


homeland

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Canon - Book, Discussion of Pregnancy, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Horny!Jon, Romance, established political marriage, sansa likes to draw, this is set in book!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: Tumblr prompt: “Do I have to ask you again?”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 55
Kudos: 216





	homeland

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the sweet anon on tumblr who requested this prompt! hope you enjoy this, darling :)
> 
> this fic is inspired once again by the whole vibe of folklore, because that's just who i am at the moment, and also by the fics [show me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560787) and [expecting the unexpected.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298560/chapters/53258107)
> 
> hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> ps: i wrote this on my phone so sorry for any mistakes!

"Do I have to ask you again?"

Jon stops shifting, aware of Sansa's glare. He sighs. "This is torture."

She giggles, blue eyes turning soft again before lowering back to the stack of parchment in her hands. "How exactly am I torturing you?"

They've been laying in bed together for less than an hour, but to Jon it feels as if it's been much, much longer. He hadn't expected to be this close to his wife in such a state of undress, and not being able to touch her.

It all starts when, a fortnight ago, Sansa begins sketching again. They are sitting together at his solar, and while he works on sums, trying to estimate if the Northern provisions will last well during winter, Sansa scribbles on a sheet of parchment, most likely working on a letter to one of the many lords that need replying to. Or at least he thinks she is scribbling. After supper, when they’re alone in their chambers, she presents him with a small drawing of himself, sitting at the desk in his solar, furrowed brows in concentration and a fist under his chin, looking like a proper King immersed in his duties to the people. 

"Sansa, this is beautiful work,” he tells her, impressed with her attention to details. Even the small scar on his eye is present despite the small size of the drawing. “It seems that the Queen is even more talented than I had thought possible."

She blushes, giving him a smile. "Thank you, Jon." Then, blue eyes are cast down, and she speaks again, a tremble in her voice. "Would you ever sit for me, if I asked?"

"You wish to have me in a pose so you can sketch me?"

He deliberately uses a teasing tone, only for the pleasure of seeing her cheeks redden even more. "Only if it would please you, Your Grace."

He takes her small hand in his, bringing it to his lips. A kiss is pressed to her knuckles. He enjoys the small sigh that leaves her lips as he does so. "I should be happy to oblige you, Sansa, as long as you would stop addressing me by such titles when it's just the two of us." She looks up at him, soft blue stare pushing him to kiss her a second time, now at the inside of her wrist, just as gently as the first. She keeps her eyes on him while speaking, and he feels a warmth within him.

"Alright. But a deal is a deal, Jon."

He smiles "A deal is a deal."

That leads them to this moment. He is laying in bed, furs covering only his manhood, while she sits across from him, eyes switching from the parchment in her hands to his form. They've been married for almost three moons now, and while there's still a certain awkwardness between them, Jon has found that he can't spend too much time away from her, especially when it comes to matters of the bedroom. He had meant to be more respectful, to give her space and time to adjust to their new roles as King and Queen, as husband and wife, but their lovemaking had somehow become an addiction to him. He has a need for her, constantly, and it has proven to be agony spending more than a week away from the sweetness between her thighs. Jon knows he should feel embarrassed. They had been brother and sister up until less than a year ago, and their marriage had come as a political play after the reveal of his true parentage, a way to keep his hold on the North strong, a way to give him the Stark name. Yet here he is, lusting after her, and loving her too, because Sansa is gentle, and brave, and so strong, and he can't help but be in awe of her, always, and he doesn't think he'll ever feel otherwise. With her he's found that love has a certain sweetness to it, a softness that he had yet to discover, and the more time they spend together the more he's sure of himself as a man and as a King, more certain he is of his duty to their people, and most importantly, to her. She brings out the best in him, keeping away that wretched darkness inside his chest from being brought back to life, and he’s ever grateful for her patience and her ability to keep him at ease.

That's why he could never deny her, especially not when she asks him to shed his clothes and lay amongst their furs, not when she urges him to  _ stay still  _ so she will be able to properly draw him. He had never expected to be in such a state of undress for this, had not expected Sansa to undress as well, claiming that she wouldn't want him to feel self conscious under her stare.  _ This way you shall not feel ashamed, as we're equally vulnerable.  _ She says it so innocently, but there is nothing innocent about the look she gives him as she unties her shift and climbs under the furs, sitting at a small distance from him before starting to work on her piece of parchment.

Choosing to ignore her teasing, he closes his eyes, lifting a hand to his hair, trying to somehow ease the growing tension at his navel.

"Jon."

_ "Sansa." _

"I asked you not to move."

“I was simply stretching.”

“Well, _ don’t.” _

A small chuckle escapes him. “I don’t recall you being this demanding in the bedchambers before, wife.”

He watches in satisfaction as her cheeks bloom in color. She shifts under his stare, yet her eyes remain on the parchment. “Hush, now. I’m close to finishing.”

He isn’t expecting her movements to push the furs wrapped around her, exposing the top of her left breast until he can almost see a nipple. Sansa continues to work on her drawing, as if not noticing the shift, but the blush in her cheeks now extends to her neck and chest, and she looks the most lovely, all flushed and exposed and carrying a small smile at the corner of her lips and it suddenly becomes too much for him to handle.

Jon pushes the furs aside, lunging forward, swallowing Sansa’s surprised yelp with his mouth. He’s already hard, the taste of her lips only making him painfully aware of it as his cock brushes against the furs still pressed between them. He lets out a groan, speaking against her lips. “If you meant to seduce me you’ve thoroughly succeeded.” 

“I would never-”

But Jon swallows her words again, unable to keep away. He has a hand tangled in her hair, the other is resting on her lower back, pressing her to him. There’s still covers and papers stuck between them, and with a huff of annoyance, he releases his hold on her only to scatter the things away. “Be careful with my sketches,” she whispers, arms coming to circle around his shoulders, her knees lifting from the bed as she moves to straddle him. Jon’s hand moves up her chest, resting on the same breast that had been exposed seconds earlier, causing him to lose control. He finds her nipple, taking pleasure in the feel of it’s hardness, pinching it between his thumb and index finger to earn himself one of her lovely crys. Sansa always makes the most soft, sweet sounds as he touches her, and this time is no different. His cock twitches, and he can feel a slickness on the head, pressed against Sansa’s stomach. There’s this urge to be inside her, to feel her walls clench around him, but he still has the presence of mind to take care of her first, wanting to make sure she’s properly wet and flushed and ready to take him.

Jon gives her nipple a final pinch, his lips moving to her ear, his arm circling around her waist as he whispers, “May I taste you, wife?” He feels her squirm against him, tightening her hold on his shoulders.

"You may."

He chuckles against her skin, pressing a kiss to her chin as he lifts her body slightly, laying her down on the bed. His lips find hers again, mouth eager, tongue already urging for the taste of her wetness. A groan escapes him as her hands find his hair, tugging on it until their lips part. “My drawings, Jon,” she speaks against his mouth, and his teeth find her lower lip, biting on it. She tugs harder on his curls and he chuckles against her mouth, releasing his hold on her to grab at the papers scattered on the bed. Her lips are on his neck and shoulders, kissing him, and he means to simply gather all the parchment and toss it on the floor, but his eyes linger on one of the drawings.

Sansa must feel his body tensing because she places a hand on his cheek, her fingers lightly threading through his beard. “Jon?” He looks down at her, then back at the drawing again. He moves to his knees so as to not crush her, holding the parchment closely to better look at it.

“Who are they?”

He can tell that the sketch is not yet finished, but his eyes trace the image all the same. He recognizes the heartree at the godswoods, with its huge leaves and its weeping face. There’s three people beneath it, a woman sitting down against its roots, a man standing next to hear and a small child between them. They all wear the direwolf sigil on their garments, and Jon recognizes Longclaw sitting at the man’s sword belt.

“It’s us.”

Sansa’s voice draws his attention back to her face. She’s sitting up on her elbows, cheeks flushed, watching him. His eyes are on the parchment again, fingers tracing the lines on the child’s face. It looks to be a boy, with curls similar to his.  _ A son. Our son. _

“It’s not finished yet. I was hoping to work on it some more before I showed you.”

“It’s beautiful, Sansa.”

"Well, I'm happy it pleases Your Grace, for it's to become true in a few moons, if we're lucky."

Jon lifts his head, the haste making him ignore her use of his title. Sansa's lips are parted, eyes widen, as if she hadn't meant to speak. "What?"

Her voice is a whisper. "I haven't had my moonblood since our wedding night."

"You're with child?"

Sansa's gaze is locked with his as she nods, lifting herself. He places the drawing on the bed, hands finding her waist, pulling her to him. He sits down as she settles on his lap. His hold on her is strong. "Why didn't you tell me?"

There's tears in her eyes. "I was scared. I  _ am  _ scared."

"Of what?"

She breathes out, looking away. "It's too soon, still. I could lose the babe. It could be born wrong, or dead even. Pregnancies are so tricky, Jon. A lot of women die at childbirth."

He knows this. His mother did. As a tear rolls down Sansa's cheek, something tears at his chest. He lifts a hand to her face, wipes it clean with his thumb.

"You won't die."

He says it so willfully, as if he could command her not to. As if he could keep her here with just his words. He's sworn to protect her from all harm, surely there must be something he can do.

She chuckles at his tone. Her hands lift to his face, cupping both his cheeks. "I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared that our child might grow without a mother. I'm scared of leaving you."

He can't phantom it. Would the Gods be so cruel? To give him Sansa, to give him a child, a family, after everything he's lost,  _ they've  _ lost, only to tear it all away again?

He presses a kiss to her lips, hand on her hair. It's a harsh, urgent kiss. He speaks against her lips, practically growls the words. "You're not going anywhere. You're staying right here with me, and with this babe, and the many more that will come. I command you to."

"I'll try my best, Your Grace."

"Don't you dare, Sansa. I will not bear to lose you."

_ I love you too deeply. _

Now she's the one to kiss him, a small, soft brush of her lips. Warm eyes look up at him. "You won't lose me, Jon. I'm yours. Even in death, I'll still be yours. You've made me yours forever when you became the true knight I've always hoped to love."

"I'm no knight, Sansa. I'm just a man."

_ And what can a man do against the will of the gods? _

She smiles at him. "You're a King."

"Aye, and you're my Queen."

"That I am."

"And you won't leave me."

"No, never, not if I can help it."

He kisses her again, slowly, because there's tears falling down her cheeks and his eyes are stinging and he can't think about this now. Losing her isn't an option. They still have so much to live, so much to do, together. A kingdom to rule, a way to fight, a family to build.  _ A son to raise. _

His hand moves down her hip, thumb caressing her tummy gently. "Is it crude of me to hope for a boy?"

She laughs. "It is not. I hope for a boy as well. I think it is, although we can't be sure of anything for now."

He lowers his eyes to her stomach, still perfectly flat. "A little prince."

"We could name him Robb."

His eyes meet hers. She's smiling, and he feels his chest expand with all the love he has for her, this woman who was once his sister, then his cousin, now his wife. This woman who's always been his family. "Only if it would please you, Your Grace."

She rolls her eyes. "Jon-"

But his mouth is already claiming hers once more, with no intention of stopping this time.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for the read! comments are always appreciated :)
> 
> come find me on tumblr if you feel like it!
> 
> Xxxxxxxx


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